


To Write Love on His Arms

by Pholo, sheithfromvoltron (theeShadyLady)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Tumblr Roleplay, i will never get sick of these boys, sheith is real, takes place during episode one - slightly canon divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 00:28:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11070252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theeShadyLady/pseuds/sheithfromvoltron
Summary: Tonight, Keith didn’t respond to Shiro’s line right away. Shiro could be pulled out at any moment, so he proceeded with his message regardless:“Big fight tonight,” Shiro wrote on his arm. “Could get ugly.”Sheith Soulmate AU in which each person has a projecting forearm that they can write to their soulmate on and their other arm displays what the soulmate wrote for a short period of time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Pholo:**

The night before the big match, Shiro uncapped his “pen” and drew a faint line up his arm.

It took Shiro a while to build himself an actual writing utensil. The Galran culture was completely digitized; Shiro was forced to improvise with what little he could scavenge from the halls, the ring, and his holding cell. Back on Earth, Shiro enjoyed a wide range of assets; his computer, his car, his bed. Now a tiny cylinder was Shiro’s most prized possession.  

Tonight, Keith didn’t respond to Shiro’s line right away. Shiro could be pulled out at any moment, so he proceeded with his message regardless:

“Big fight tonight,” Shiro wrote on his arm. “Could get ugly.”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

It was driving Keith insane to see Shiro’s words scrawling across his left arm. Surely it must have seemed like he was ignoring him, but he wasn’t. Not at all. He just had no way to respond right now, there wasn’t really a place to keep pens on his Ducati, but there was a gas station up ahead that he could stop at.

He was rushing, not paying attention as he sped through a red light and narrowly avoided getting flattened by some idiot in an SUV. The words were beginning to fade as he threw himself off his bike and burst through the store doors reaching behind the counter and stealing a pen from the cashier.

He barely had time to read Shiro’s words before they disappeared, but he saw them. His heart was racing and his hand shaking as he tried to think of a response. “You can do this, Takashi. I” Keith’s hand paused, contemplating writing a simple phrase, but couldn’t do it, “believe in you.”

He knew it didn’t make sense that it was so hard for him to tell Shiro how he felt, but that’s just how he was. He handed the pen back to the cashier, apologizing for his actions and wandered to the back of the store in search of pens to purchase while he waited for a response.

 

**Pholo:**

Letters appeared one by one up the length of Shiro’s arm. Relief warmed Shiro’s chest; Keith’s words always lit him up with happiness. It was another element of Shiro’s life that he’d taken for granted as a student. Shiro’s capture and subsequent loneliness made his connection with Keith all the more precious. Shiro read the words on his arm, and for a moment his soulmate was beside him again.

Shiro had many friends back on Earth with platonic soulmates. Keith knew Shiro loved him as a brother; he could probably write “I love you” on his arm, and Keith would assume he meant it as a friend. It was too risky, though. Shiro sighed to himself and wrote “thank you, Keith” along his wrist. He had to believe there’d be time for a proper confession. Shiro continued: “Will try to report back soon. Might be a while.”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith was sitting on the ground outside the store when Shiro’s response slowly appeared on the wrist of his left hand. Sucking in a breath, he quickly wrote, “Okay.” on his right forearm, followed be a small ‘x’ to indicate the conversation was over. He didn’t want it to be, but he knew Shiro needed to focus.

As much as he wanted to sit and stare at as his arm waiting for Shiro’s line to appear on his receiving arm, he knew there was no point. It would be hours before the match was over. Reluctantly, he got back on his bike and drove home. The shack was quiet and despite his absence, it still felt like Shiro. After all it was his, but Keith had gotten his permission to move in after he got kicked out of the Garrison. 

It was four in the morning and still no response. Keith hadn’t slept, afraid he’s miss it. But it had been seven hours and still  _nothing_. It had never taken Shiro more than four hours to get back to Keith on fight nights.

His mind was swirling with awful  _what ifs._ Questioning if something happened. Wondering if he’d be able to tell if something did. Shiro was his soulmate; surely he’d know—he’d  _feel_ —it if he was… if something had happened.

It took him another hour before he built up the courage to draw a small line along his forearm. It faded away without response. He drew another. It faded. “ANSWER ME!” he penned in giant letters. Nothing. He drew another line. And another. And another. Dragging the pen across his skin until the entirety of his projecting arm was covered in red ink and his eyes were blurry with tears. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Pholo:**

Shiro’s whole world was red. He came to periodically, his arm a distant bundle of fire and needles, and stared up at his captors through bleary eyes. The Galra were smart enough to administer some kind of alien anesthesia before they began Shiro’s surgery–the shock would’ve killed him otherwise–but Shiro’s arm still screamed at him through a filter. It was as though he were experiencing the surgery through someone else’s body. 

Normally the Galra brought Shiro to a “healing pod” after a bad fight. When the monster split his hand open today, though, they carted him off to a separate room–one with a metal table and a row of surgical tools. 

It was a long, long night. Every once in a while, Shiro found the strength to crane his neck against his restraints. His lower right arm was a tangle of blood, metal and electrodes. His left arm was stained red as well–but with lines and letters rather than blood. Under the painkillers Shiro recognized Keith’s handwriting:

“ANSWER ME!” 

Shiro’s right arm twitched. His right hand was gone by now, but the phantom fingers were there, itching for Shiro’s pen. “I’m alive,” he wanted to write, or “help me,” or “please keep talking”…

Shiro passed out again some time later, and he saw Keith’s words on the backs of his eyelids.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Letting his anger and hurt and the tiredness that dogged him since Shiro’s capture finally take him, Keith closed his eyes.

When he woke it was quietly, as if he hadn’t just passed out from the inevitable overtake of madness in his skin. He sat up, scrubbing at his face to chase away the dried tracks of his tears. The night came back to him in vivid detail, making him clutch his arm. His nails  _digging_  into his receiving arm.  _Clawing_  like maybe he could convince Shiro’s words to appear.

Four days later and he was  _worse_. He hadn’t slept except for a few minutes here and there before being woken up by awful, horrible, sickness-inducing dreams of why Shiro no longer answered. He tried to fight it, he really did, but by the fifth day of staring at his blank left arm, he _knew._

Shiro was dead.

There was no other explanation. He’d told himself he would have felt it if Shiro was really gone, but a nagging idea in his head eventually was the only thing that made sense. He did feel it. That’s what this was. The nightmares. The anger. The absolute lack of will to do  _anything_. This is what it felt like. This is was his life now without his soulmate; his best friend; his world.

Keith grabbed the red pen off the floor, yanked the cap off with his teeth, and started to write. No line this time.

> _I DON’T NEED YOU SHIRO. I NEVER DID. YOU’RE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. YOU SAID YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE ME. EVERYBODY LEAVES. EVERYBODY LIES. BUT I **BELIEVED**  YOU. I BELIEVED YOU TAKASHI.  
>  _ _I HATE YOU. YOU MADE ME BELIEVE AND I WILL **NEVER**  FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS. I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU.  **I HATE YOU.**_

He was crying again, his fingers shaking and his handwriting barely legible. But it didn’t matter because Shiro was dead and he was alone. Again. He lifted his hand one last time and drew an ‘x’. 

 _Conversation_   _over_.

 

**Pholo:**

For days after the surgery, Shiro was confined to a private recovery room. There were no fights or other prisoners to distract him from his misery. Sometimes a soldier arrived and offered Shiro food and strange, alien medicine. Shiro stayed upright long enough to receive his meals. The rest of his time was spent curled up on his cot. He stared at his right arm, like if he focused hard enough the metal would peel away and reveal human flesh.

It was fruitless, of course. Shiro’s lower arm was gone. There was no skin to write on anymore. 

Shiro thought about Keith back on Earth. He thought about Keith, gaze turned towards the stars. He was probably wondering whether Shiro was alive. 

Shiro flexed his metal fingers. The connection between himself and Keith was dead; replaced with a cold metal husk. In his new cell, Shiro didn’t have access to his pen. On his second day of quarantine he mimed picking up a pen. He began to write air-messages across his metal arm:

_ The fight went to shit. My arm’s gone. I’m so tired. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. _

The messages didn’t exist outside Shiro’s head. Keith would never see them. But the gesture was comforting. Shiro had spent so many nights like this, propped up against his cell wall, writing to Keith long after his soulmate had fallen asleep. 

Finally, on the fourth day, Shiro received a message from Keith.  

_…I HATE YOU._

Shiro knew Keith. He knew how he responded to pain–how he lashed out when he was scared. He shouldn’t take Keith’s words to heart. But in that moment, as Shiro stared at the damning “x” on his arm, all he could think about were the words, “I hate you.” All he could feel was the pit growing in his stomach; the grief welling up in his chest. 

_I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS._

Shiro was suffocating. He choked once on a sob. He lay there on his cot, right hand clenched in his left. There were no prisoners or guards around. Even Keith couldn’t hear him anymore. So Shiro allowed himself to crumble. The next time he felt his eyes prickle, he let the tears come.

“I’m coming back,” Shiro swore. “I’m coming back…”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**sheithfromvoltron:**

He’d been alone in this damn desert for three months. It’s been longer since he was kicked out of the Garrison, but he wasn’t really alone then. But now he was alone and the silence was deafening. He was fully settled into his theory that all that was left for him was madness.

Shiro had taken his sanity, and in all honesty, he didn’t care if he ever got back. Nothing made sense and he was doing things without understanding why. He’d been gathering information, weird signs and radio chatter that he piggybacked off of a rogue feed running to the Garrison and he knew something was going to happen tonight.

He’d been telling himself that he didn’t care, but still here he was on the porch, sitting in that stupid rocking chair Shiro never even used. He was bored, drawing lines and planets and little phrases on his receiving arm, pretending they were from Shiro. But then the sky was rumbling and a red flash appeared. A ship… in the back of his mind a little voice whispered ‘ _Shiro.’_  

But he growled, backing that stupid voice down because it wasn’t Shiro. It would never be Shiro. Shiro was gone. And he was  _never_  coming back.

He watched for a moment before getting on his bike and tearing across the desert, already figuring where the ship would land. He must have taken too long because soldiers from the Garrison already had the area sealed off, but he’d come prepared, veering off to the right to set a line of timed explosives.

He had just enough time to get into hiding before they went off and the soldiers rushed to them, just like he knew they would. Even as he ran inside the unguarded dome, he wasn’t sure why he was doing this. Just that  _something_  was telling him he had to.

The three men in hazmat suits went down without what could even be considered a fight. They clearly were not soldiers. But even if they had been, nothing would have knocked the wind out of him like when he looked at the man strapped to the table.

He choked on his words, having to suck in a hard breath as he reached out a shaking hand. “Shiro?” 

 

**Pholo:**

“Calm down, Shiro. We just need to keep you quarantined until we’ve run some tests.”

If Shiro’s arms were free, he’d throttle Iverson there and then. As it was, Shiro rattled his restraints. “You have to listen to me!” Shiro snapped. “They destroy worlds! Aliens are coming!”

Iverson only walked closer to the gurney. “Do you know how long you’ve been gone?” he asked.

Shiro hissed through his teeth. “ I don’t know. Months? Years?” One of Iverson’s lackeys ran a hand over Shiro’s prosthetic, and goosebumps raised the hair on Shiro’s upper arm. The callback to his time on the Galran rack was enough to make Shiro vomit, but he pressed on: “Look, there’s no time. Aliens are coming here for a weapon. They’re probably on their way!”

The lackey’s fingers found the crook of Shiro’s arm; Shiro couldn’t stifle a wince. “Sir, take a look at this. It appears his arm has been replaced with a cyborg prosthetic.”

Iverson looked concerned. “Put him under until we know what that thing can do.”

“No, no, no…!” Shiro’s heartbeat sped up. He writhed against the table; more figures moved to restrain him. The hands on Shiro’s chest only worsened his panic. “Don’t put me under! No! There’s no time–let me go!” 

A giant crash. The hands on Shiro’s chest stilled. 

An explosion…?

Iverson whipped around. He yanked his walkie up to his mouth: “What the hell was–”

And then the door burst open. There was a flurry of motion; a figure threw Shiro’s assailants to the floor one by one. The finer details of the fight were lost on Shiro, whose vision had long since gone fuzzy. He caught sight of a red jacket and a dark head of hair. 

Was that…?

Was Shiro dead? Had he finally lost his mind? Shiro was barely conscious by the time Keith made it to his gurney; he peered up at his soulmate with wide, vacant eyes. Shiro wanted to reach out, but his arms were pinned and heavy. He said Keith’s name aloud for the first time in months:

“Keith?”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“Yeah, it’s me,” his voice shook. They didn’t have time for this, but he couldn’t help it because this was  _Shiro_. His soulmate. His best friend.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Keith’s knife was in his hand and cutting at the straps that held Shiro down. He’d never had the chance to say those words, he’d wanted to for months, but was worlds away. Now he could do actually do something.

He helped Shiro’s legs down from the table and pulled him up, letting him lean a majority of his weight on him. He lead them down the short hall and out into the brisk desert air. “Just a little farther,” he encouraged the other man who looked on the verge of passing out.

He helped him on his bike, letting Shiro slump over the front before slapping his helmet onto the nearly unconscious man and getting on behind him. He noticed that the bike tracks were already gone and thanked any God that was listening for that bit of help. Though his next recognition took him adjusting Shiro’s hands to the front of the bike, making his fingers hold on a little longer than necessary to the metallic fingers.

His eyes blurred, understanding why Shiro hadn’t wrote back that day. And even worse remembering what he’d written as he started the bike and headed for the highway, taking a longer route to the shack in case they were followed.

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro spent most of the bike ride slumped against Keith’s chest. He drifted off several times, his fingers slipping from the front of the bike, only to snap awake again with wide, wild eyes. In those moments Shiro was filled with a sense of urgency. He had to warn the Garrison about—what? It was difficult to remember, enwrapped by Keith’s arms. He was paralyzed, shocked by the warmth of Keith’s body; Shiro had become used to the cold bite of his cell floor.

At last Shiro surrendered to the peace of the moment. He soaked up the connection points between his back and Keith’s shirtfront; the little moments when the wind whipped Keith’s jacket up against Shiro’s shoulders. He had to catalogue every second in case this turned out to be a dream. 

By the time he and Keith reached the shack, Shiro’s eyes were half-lidded. His heartbeat had slowed to a gentle pitter patter. As Keith helped Shiro off the bike, his body became lighter—more distant. The sensation was familiar; “’M about to pass out,” Shiro slurred, struggling to remain upright. “Sorry…”

Shiro’s vision tunneled. He felt sand under his fingers; since when was he on the ground? “Think…” Shiro said, “I may need to…lie down a little.” 

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

“Hey, hey,” Keith winced grabbing Shiro just in time to slow his fall, but not quick enough to stop it. He let the other man lie for a second, “I know. Let’s just get inside first, then we’ll go to bed.” It took some maneuvering to get him up and he bore the majority of Shiro’s weight as he helped him to the house, but once they’d managed to get through the door things got easier since Shiro could lean against things other than Keith.

He knew Shiro was tired, but that had to wait a few more minutes. “Come on, sit here, okay?” Keith lead him to his bed, well  _his_ , bed and got him sitting down. He refused to take his eyes off him and so he was backing  up to the closet and yanked out the first shirt he felt, but Shiro was slumping and his eyes were closed.

“Okay. Rest first.” He lifted Shiro’s legs onto the bed and folded the other side of the blanket over his soulmate. He was going to just let him sleep, but he couldn’t leave and ended up sliding in next to him, running his fingers through his hair with one hand and reaching for a pen with the other.

Small letters faded in across Shiro’s arm as he wrote five words. 

` _‘I'm sorry. I love you.’_ `

Then watched them slowly disappear.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Pholo:**

The bed was softer than air. Shiro’s skin tickled where the blanket brushed his neck; there was a crisp sound as Keith climbed under the sheets. Shiro wanted to reach out–to pull Keith close to his chest–but his arms felt weirdly distant from his body. His vision wavered like lights on water. Shiro’s eyes closed on their own accord.

As Shiro floated off to sleep, Keith’s presense was tangible. It enveloped Shiro like a second blanket, warm and constant.

For the first time in months, Shiro felt safe.

Shiro’s sleep was deep and dreamless. He came to as the first strains of sunlight breached the lip of the bedroom window. Compared to the murky darkness of Shiro’s old cell, the daylight was like a solar flare. Shiro’s brain short-circuited at the sensation of cotton under his head. His eyes shot open; he surged up in bed, hair tussled like a stray cats’, and grappled with the sheets. Where was he? What had happened? Where was–

Keith. He’d seen Keith. Shiro’s heart stopped.

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith didn’t move all night and even when he slept a hand stayed curled in to Shiro’s shirt to confirm he was okay(thereSafeALIVE). He woke before Shiro and knew he should get up —get  _out—_ this was Shiro’s bed and this wasn’t something they did. They were close, but this was a boundary they’d always held. But he couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t move and wake his sleeping soulmate and he couldn’t take his eyes off him and risk Shiro disappearing …or worse, find that this was a dream and the one person he loved and never told was still dead. He wouldn’t leave until Shiro was awake and alert, until he could reassure Keith this was real. And when Shiro did finally wake, he came out fighting.

“Shiro?” Keith had jumped, not from fear, but surprise. It only took him half a second to recover, then reaching for Shiro; touching his shoulders to get his attention. But Shiro was still wild and looking lost and Keith didn’t know how to help. So he just pulled himself closer; wrapped his arms around Shiro. "Hey, it’s okay. Takashi. Takashi, I’m here. You’re home. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

He didn’t let go, even once Shiro’s hands had stilled; he simply adjusted, taking Shiro’s prosthetic and kissing the knuckles. He couldn’t imagine the things Shiro had suffered, what had resulted in  _this_ , but he wouldn’t ask. Not until Shiro was ready. His other arm, still around his soulmate, held onto his shoulder keeping him as tight to Keith as possible. “It’s okay, Takashi.

 

**Pholo:**

Shiro was pulled out of his fit when arms latched around his torso. Shiro’s forehead found Keith’s shirtfront. His arms relaxed by degrees, body taut with stress. Keith’s voice was a gentle drone above Shiro’s head.  _Takashi_. When was the last time he’d heard his first name?

At last Shiro’s brain caught up to his body. With a shuddery sigh, he collapsed against Keith’s torso. His hands found the back of Keith’s shirt; he clenched the fabric tight enough to turn his knuckles white. It stung, being held so dearly, as though Shiro were someone worthy of affection. He didn’t deserve Keith’s kindness—but he was too weak to pull away. Shiro sat there, hunched and broken, as Keith reached for his metal arm. Keith uncurled the hand around his back to kiss a path across Shiro’s knuckles.

Galra magic allowed him to feel Keith’s lips on his “skin,” though the sensation was fuzzy. Shiro’s body was weaponized now. Keith didn’t know how many monsters he’d killed with that arm. To see Keith kiss his prosthetic—for Keith to embrace the part of Shiro he hated the most—was enough to send Shiro over the edge. The act was beyond Shiro’s comprehension.

Shiro didn’t mean to cry—but his relief, his shame, his love was suddenly too much to keep under his skin. Shiro stuttered once on a sob, tears on his cheeks as he ducked his head back under Keith’s chin. 

“I’m sorry.” The words shook like his body. Shiro remembered Keith’s note, that night on his cot. “I didn’t want to leave you. I always—I never got to…” Shiro shook his head against Keith’s chest. “Thank you for finding me.”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith’s eyes were burning as he held his soulmate close, but he refused to let himself cry. He needed to be strong for Shiro. He needed to be strong.  _Be strong. Be. Strong. Be—_ but he faltered. He could tell Shiro was thinking of what he’d written

> _ I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS. I HATE YOU. _

“No, Shiro. No. I’m sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean what I said. I’m so sorry.” He was crying now. Crying because Shiro was here and hurting and he was weak. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was just scared and hurt and mad that I didn’t tell you I loved you before you left and I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance and I’m so sorry, Takashi.”

He wrapped himself even tighter around Shiro, bringing his legs to his soulmate’s sides, running his fingers through Shiro’s hair. “I’m just glad you’re back. I missed you so much. Don’t ever leave me again, okay?”

 

**Pholo:**

“I promise,” Shiro said. “I missed you too. I thought about you all the time; it kept me alive. Even when I couldn’t talk to you anymore, I still…” Shiro shook his head slightly against Keith’s chest. He didn’t ever want to move again, hemmed in like this between Keith’s arms and legs. His whole body was singing from the sensation of being  _held_ ; of Keith’s fingers threading through his hair, of his soulmate’s heartbeat drumming under his ear. It felt like forgiveness. There was naked relief in Shiro’s voice as he said, “I’m never leaving you again. Not unless you ask me to.”

It took Shiro a long moment to process the depth of Keith’s apology. He sat there, slumped against Keith’s torso, and felt something snag in the back of his mind; a thread dangling just out of sight. Shiro pulled at it, and the great mystery unraveled under his hands. Keith’s words replayed in his head:

_I didn’t tell you I loved you…_

“Keith,” Shiro breathed. His mind was full of static. “Keith, do you…”

It couldn’t be true. How many times had Shiro convinced himself that Keith didn’t feel the same way? How many times had Shiro nearly written “I love you” on his arm, only to lose hope and throw away his pen?

“…Are you in love with me?”

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**sheithfromvoltron:**

Keith’s grip tightened just slightly. He hadn’t meant to tell Shiro, not like this but then again he never thought he’d get this chance… so maybe this was a good thing. He’d never been able to talk himself into saying those words to Shiro, so maybe it was best that they had tumbled out accidentally.

His hands slid from his soulmate’s hair and from around his back to his shoulders, forcing him a couple inches away. He studied Shiro’s face, the knew bolt of scar across the bridge of his nose and those gray eyes that always seemed to see too much. There was a tug in his chest and as much as he told himself that Shiro would never want him in the same way, he had to let him know.

“Yeah,” his voice quiet, afraid it’d be too much to throw him, “yeah, I am, Takashi. And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same and I should have told you before you left. But I am and I think I have been for a long time and I… I really hope you meant what you said because I will  _never_  ask you to leave.” One of his hands moved to the angle of Shiro’s jaw, “Please don’t leave me, Takashi.”

 

**Pholo:**

Time stopped. Keith’s admission was a seismic event, his touch an aftershock. The breath left Shiro’s lungs; his trembling worsened, becoming a bone-deep rattle. Shiro felt himself splitting open under Keith’s hand. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage, light and too-quick like a hummingbird’s wings.

“I’m an idiot,” Shiro said finally, and the smile on his face felt foreign. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d  _smiled_  like this…the last time his body had been so full of light and love and  _happiness_. “I’m such an idiot.”

Shiro didn’t dare return Keith’s touch–the moment still felt too fragile. He untangled his fingers from Keith’s shirt. “All this time I told myself you could never love me back. I lay there in those stupid cells and I never once…” Shiro laughed, and the sound was like a sob. He shook his head. “All those times I could have told you how much I loved you, and I didn’t. Keith, you…I would’ve done anything to see you. I would’ve given anything to…”

Shiro was scared. He was so tired of wishing, of waiting. It took a moment for him to muster up his courage, but at last Shiro reached out, guiding Keith’s receiving arm towards his chest.

Shiro kept his touch gentle, his grip loose; If Keith wanted to break free, the slightest backward motion would propel him from Shiro’s grasp. Keith’s arm was soft and warm under Shiro’s hands. It had been months since Shiro last reached out to hold rather than to hurt. Tears beaded under Shiro’s chin as he dropped his head; he pressed a kiss to Keith’s wrist, then another up along his forearm.

“I…” Shiro’s voice broke a bit, and he swallowed. “Of course I won’t leave you. Never again. I’ll never…”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

This was too much to take in all at once and yet not nearly enough, He’ had months of what he thought was a Shiroless universe to scrub from his veins and he wanted to clear it from his system in a single day. He would not be leaving Shiro’s side. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not again.

Trying to contain his trembling as Shiro took his hand; as Shiro kissed the arm that he’d hated for being blank these last months. “Good,” Keith nodded, “that’s good. I-I can’t handle losing you, not again.”

 _Shiro loved him. Shiro. Loved. Him._  He could barely wrap his mind around that, but he believed him. Slowly pulling his arm away from Shiro so that he could place a hand on either side of the other man’s face. Both thumbs carefully swiped at the tear tracks on his cheeks, knowing he wore matching ones, but didn’t bother to whip them away.

What mattered was Shiro. And in that moment, Keith decided his new life’s mission was to make sure that Takashi Shirogane never went another second without feeling loved. “If I had known,” his teeth grit, trying to keep back the hot tears that threatened to spill again, “if I had known you were still… Takashi, I… I would have looked for you… I would have stolen a ship from the Garrison. I would have searched the whole galaxy for you… I  _should_  have.”

He pulled him self even closer to Shiro, letting his forehead lean against his soulmate’s. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you every day that I love you.” Keith knew there was no point in should haves, but  _god_  did they make his chest ache.

 

**Pholo:**

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” Shiro promised him, tilting his forehead slightly against Keith’s. His eyes drifted closed. “The ship I was on could travel thousands of lightyears faster than any of the Garrison’s shuttles. You never would have found me.” Shiro doesn’t vocalize the latter half of this hypothetical rescue mission, wherein Keith could have been caught and tortured by Galran soldiers. The thought of Keith on an electrocution rack was enough to make Shiro’s hands tremble. He mirrored Keith’s position, cupping his hands over Keith’s ears. Keith’s hair tickled his flesh hand, and Shiro couldn’t hold back a smile. “Knowing that you were safe back home…it kept me fighting. I had someone to get back to.”

Reluctantly, Shiro drew back on the bed. He looked down, keeping his hands on the sides of Keith’s face. The sunrise turned the room a silky golden color. The light caught the edge of Keith’s jaw, playing off the tears in his eyes. Shiro wasn’t sure he was brave enough to kiss him fully, so he ran his fingers along Keith’s temple in a soothing gesture. “There was nothing you could have done,” Shiro repeated, with conviction. He tried to focus on Keith’s proximity; on the steady drum of his own heartbeat. The enormity of Shiro’s return was only just beginning to dawn on him. The world had kept spinning in his absence, and Keith had no doubt changed since their Garrison days. Shiro didn’t know how to ask what he’d done after Shiro lost his arm.

Shiro laughed, wetly. The room; the bed; Keith’s  _presence_  was so bright and comfortable. “It’s…so much,” he admitted. “I haven’t…felt the  _sun_  in months. I–how long was I gone?”

 

**sheithfromvoltron:**

His throat constricted thinking about how long it had really been. He’d barely noticed the days himself. He hadn’t taken Shiro’s absence lightly; it had nearly drained every ounce of life from him. He’d spend days curled up in Shiro’s bed, barely moving, hardly ever eating. A few months ago he’d started searching. Something had pulled him out of bed, told him to get dressed and get looking, though he didn’t know what to look for.

“It’s been nine months since Kerberos and five since… we last spoke.” Keith followed Shiro’s eyes to the window where bars of light filtered through the blinds. Silently, he untangled himself from Shiro and crawled off the bed before holding out a hand, “Come on.”

Forcing himself to swallow when their fingers twisted together and he helped Shiro to stand, wrapping an arm around the other man’s waist. They took it slow; Keith leading him out of the bedroom, into the kitchen, and out the door. The two of them sat on the step, leaning against each other with Shiro watching the sunrise and Keith watching Shiro.

After a couple minutes, Keith nuzzled into Shiro’s shoulder to get his attention for a moment. And when he turned his head, he leaned up and pressed a single kiss to his soulmate’s lips. Smiling as he pulled away, “It’s good to have you back.”

` _FIN_ `

**Author's Note:**

> find us on tumblr @sheithfromvoltron and @mighty-trash


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